5 Times McCoy Was A Bad Ass And 1 Time He Wasn't
by BlueHawaii
Summary: 5 times McCoy was a bad ass and 1 time he really, really wasn't. Slight Kirk/McCoy.


**5 times McCoy was a bad ass and 1 time he really wasn't.**

**1.**

Jim had been neglecting the sickbay all day. He knew McCoy had enough on his plate today, without adding himself to the mix. Though, it wasn't long before he knew the seemingly constant stream of patients would be thinning, and eventually the doctor would come looking for him.

Just to make it easier on them both, after his shift was over, Jim made his way towards the sickbay, knowing full well that his CMO would still be there.

The door swished open and, straight away, noise and commotion bombarded him. Usually, the sickbay was quiet and calm, but today the air was tense and seemed to crackle like lightning whenever someone crossed the room.

An ensign, clutching his upper arm, passed Jim as he stood uncertainly in the doorway. His face was scrunched up in a blend of pain and anger, while his hand continued to rub at the obviously bruised skin on his arm.

Looking around, Jim noticed that the ensign wasn't the only one with a disgruntled look on their face. Dotted around, on the beds, there were several others looking less than pleased with the situation. Some were similarly rubbing pained limbs, whereas others sat looking on with apprehension.

On the opposite side of the sickbay, Jim spotted McCoy. He was standing in front of an ensign, who was perched on the edge of the med-bed, with a hypospray poised in his hand.

Even from here, Jim could see the exhaustion on McCoy's face. His shift was now on its 18th hour and it showed. The dark bags under his eyes stood stark against his pale face and his usually kept hair stood up in places. Jim felt he would have mistaken him for someone else, if it hadn't been for the undeniable Bones-like scowl that graced his features.

Jim weaved around the many bodies, slowly making his way towards his friend. The closer he got, the more disheveled McCoy looked to him.

He watched as McCoy, with the scowl still in place, raised the hypospray to the ensign's arm. Without warning and without his usual gruff tact, he jabbed the hypospray into the awaiting arm. In response, the arm flinched and the ensign sucked in a lungful of air as the pain caught him unaware.

When the patient shot him a hurt look, McCoy simply placed a hand on his back, urging him to move.

"Quit your whining and get out of my sickbay."

His voice was gravelly, and had taken on more of a southern drawl than Jim was sure he had ever heard before. The ensign didn't need to be told twice, as he was up and out the door before McCoy could even finish.

McCoy took a deep breath, lifting his hand to rub the tiredness off his face. He let the air out in one long sigh, then jumped back into action. He isn't surprised when he looks up to to see Jim and not an empty space. He didn't say a word, and doesn't even look Jim in the eye as he re-fills the hypospray. Jim readied himself, letting his arm hang loose and languid. He's been through this enough times to know that tensing only makes it worse. Satisfied that it wasn't going to hurt, Jim turned his face away so he wouldn't see it coming.

The sharp pressure in his neck took him by surprise, causing the muscles in his neck to contract. It only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough to made Jim mutter a curse under his breath. When the needle was pulled out, Jim quickly replaced it with his hand, clamping it around the sore area. His head whipped around at comical speed, a question already spilling from his lips.

"What the hell, why do I get mine in the neck?"

McCoy must have been very tired because instead of taking pleasure in causing his captain medical discomfort, he spoke in the same lifeless voice he had been using all day.

"Because you took too damn long to get down here."

Jim found himself being pushed to his feet by a gentle hand on his back. He looked up at McCoy , taking in his reddened eyes.

"Damn, Bones, you look like hell. You should take a break."

McCoy was already re-filling the hypospray, getting ready for his next patient.

"I can't. There are still some people who haven't gotten the vaccine yet."

Jim scoffed. "And what, you're not going to stop until each and everyone is treated?"

McCoy sent him a look which Jim couldn't really describe, then turned his back to him. He ordered a nervous looking ensign to "get over here, kid", then jabbed him in the arm, ensuring him that his health and his life was still intact.

**2.**

Jim wasn't expecting the body that materialized out of nowhere, next to his chair on the bridge, but he prided himself on the speed he was up and out of the chair.

"Don't bother trying to resist, I already have complete control of the ship."

The weapon in the man's hand was pointed directly at Jim, and the rest of the bridge watched on in silence. No one moved but the man continued to speak.

"I've been trapped on that planet for years, and now I finally have a chance to escape, I'm not going to let it pass me by."

His eyes didn't leave Jim as he circled around the chair and started towards the captain. Out the corner of his vision, Jim saw Spock making a move to get up, but he stopped him by raising his hand in a halting gesture. When Jim spoke, his words were directed at both of them.

"Stand down."

The man chuckled dryly at him, while making no attempt to remove the weapon from his grip.

"I don't think so. The only people who are going to be standing down are you and your crew."

Jim felt his legs ache to move backwards. It required every mental effort he possessed to keep his body from moving on someone else's accord. The man smiled at him, an eerie twinkling in his eye; then, before Jim really processed what was happening, he was crashing to his knees. The sudden jolt vibrated up his spine and he had to use his hands to steady himself. He shot the man an angry glare, that quickly turned murderous when he saw the look of pure joy on his face.

Jim couldn't help but cringe when the man sauntered forward, definitely crossing into the personal space zone. Still, the crew remained at their stations watching the scene, as it was the captain's order; but Jim could see Spock was calculating and planning in the background.

Just as the man was really getting into the role of bad guy, Jim heard a familiar whoosh sound, and his body tensed. The man, noticing this, grinned even wider, believing the reaction was due to him. He was obviously too into his role to notice anything that was going on around him. He only had eyes for the captain, it seemed.

However, Jim was different; his eyes were trained on the completely oblivious body that was standing in the turbolift. McCoy was reading something on the datapad in his hand, and had yet to look up at the situation on the bridge. His lips moved along wordlessly as the scowl deepened; whatever he was reading had fully monopolized his attention.

The bad guy wasn't enjoying the fact that Jim's attention had been shifted away from him. He didn't look into what had diverted it, and Jim was thankful for that, but he wanted the eyes back on him. Jim felt the air ripple before he saw the man's hand cutting through the empty space between them. His face was forcibly ripped away from McCoy as the weapon smashed into his cheek, effectively splitting his lip. Then, straight away, the man was in charge again.

Jim spat the small amount of blood that had accumulated in his mouth onto the floor, more for show than a necessity. Over the man's shoulder, Jim finally caught McCoy's gaze. The silence on the bridge had been broken by the brutal attack, and the sudden intrusion of noise had snapped McCoy out of his thoughts. The datapad hung by his side, forgotten,and his face clearly showed the confusion he felt.

Watching the feelings flit across McCoy's face, Jim lapped up the leftover blood on his lip. The confusion didn't last long and was swiftly replaced by a look of exasperated determination. McCoy had already figured out what was going on; it was unusually often that the crew of the Enterprise had to deal with scenarios such as this.

McCoy stalked forward, not even trying to mute his own footsteps. All it took was one swing of his datapad to knock the guy off balance and out of consciousness. After he had hit the ground, Jim felt the blood rush back into his legs. He stumbled to his feet, swayed, then was steadied by McCoy's gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Bones, you're right on time."

McCoy glanced at the still body on the floor then back at Jim's smiling face, struggling for words at first. When the words finally came, they echoed throughout the bridge.

"I don't even wanna know."

With that he tucked the datapad under his arm, turned on his heels and returned to the turbolift.

**3.**

"How long has he been in there?"

Jim pushed his back off the wall and scrambled to his feet when he heard McCoy's voice moving through the halls towards him.

"Just over an hour. I haven't been in there again, but I can hear him moving about."

When McCoy appeared around the corner, Jim was surprised to see him looking slightly cheerful, well as cheerful as a smirk would allow. He, at least, looked well rested for a change. Every shore leave he came back looking rejuvenated; it was amazing what a few days of finally seeing his daughter would do for the man. Jim couldn't help but feel guilty about asking him to cut his trip short, but it was an emergency.

"I'm sorry about ordering you back for this. I'm sure there are better things you'd rather be doing."

McCoy made a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat, as he delved into the leather satchel on his hip.

"Well, I couldn't really leave you to deal with this, could I?"

"True. I haven't been much of a help so far."

After grabbing whatever he needed, McCoy looked up at Jim's questionable gaze.

"What did you do?"

Jim recognized the pointed stare being sent at him, and quickly tried to defend himself. He wasn't the person most people called in a medical crisis, but usually he was only trying to help.

"I overrided the lock on his door before I called you, and he just threw me back out."

Jim's hand ghosted over his shoulder, recalling the rough man-handling he had endured while just attempting to be useful.

"Idiot."

McCoy went back to whatever he was doing. Jim saw a few hyposprays in his hand, and guessed how McCoy planned to solve this medical mystery.

"Where's lieutenant Uhura?"

Jim winced, remembering the conversation from half an hour ago. McCoy had convinced him to contact her, but it was hard to get a conversation out of a situation he knew nothing about.

"She's on her way, but she was visiting family, so it'll be four, five hours at the least."

Nodding his head in understanding, McCoy finished getting the hyposprays ready. Jim counted three in total, though he wasn't entirely sure what he had left in the satchel.

"Do you think that's enough?"

He had meant for it to sound sarcastic; he was trying to lighten the mood, though in reality it just made him sound unsure. The sarcasm was obviously lost on McCoy as well, because when he answered his voice was serious.

"I don't know. I hope so."

Jim chuckled dryly, but quickly stopped when McCoy sighed and stepped towards the door. Before he could get too close, Jim's hand shot out and grasped his arm.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"He's going to end up hurting himself if we don't do something soon."

The hand on his arm slowly loosened and returned to its owner's side, but McCoy still hesitated in the doorway. Jim saw this and raised his hand again; though instead of going to comfort the man in front of him, it moved to the keypad next to the door. He pressed a series of numbers then paused on the last one.

"You're a brave man Bones."

Another number and the door swished open. The first thing to register, with the two men standing outside, was the sweltering heat. Jim and McCoy sent each other puzzled looks. Jim shrugged then probed McCoy in the back, urging him to take another step.

McCoy had never set foot in Spock's room before, and he wasn't sure this time really counted as he wasn't really exactly welcome.

"Spock? Are you okay? You haven't managed to, I don't know, kill yourself, have you?"

His words were met with silence, so McCoy shuffled further into the room. He couldn't see anyone else. He was about to turn back to Jim, at the door, and shrug his shoulders, but as he turned he heard the door suddenly close. Most of the light spilling in from outside was cut off, and McCoy was left in semi-darkness. He tightened his grip on the hyposprays, took a deep breath, and carried on with his orders.

Outside, the unexpected movement of the door caught Jim off guard. Slight panic set in when he realized McCoy was now locked in there. He began unevenly pacing, until he heard a cluttering noise on the other side of the door. Having his ear pressed to the door helped, but only marginally. He could hear movement and muffled voices. One was quite obviously McCoy's annoyed gruff tone, but the other didn't sound much like Spock.

There was a loud crashing noise, and Jim was certain he felt the wall shudder. Jim was practically trying to mold himself into the door, when he heard another set of footsteps coming towards him. He pulled away and saw Uhura marching closer. Her face was wrought with worry, though Jim couldn't really blame her. Their conversation earlier hadn't really enlightened her about anything.

"What's going on? Where is Spock?"

Jim wordlessly pointed towards the door. She surged forward and Jim didn't try to stop her. She soon found out it was locked.

"What is going on?"

"We're not really sure. Spock just sort of flipped out and shut himself in his room."

"For any particular reason? What did you say to him?"

Jim was slightly offended by her immediate mistrust.

"I didn't do anything. He just looked at me, then walked out of the room."

"He didn't say anything?"

Jim turned towards the door, hearing McCoy's voice get louder for a few seconds.

"Not then, no. But when I went into his room later, and he threw me out, he said something. I didn't quite hear it. It was something farr. But the next thing I know I'm on the floor out here."

Uhura froze. She didn't take her eyes off the door.

"Was it pon farr?"

The words sounded familiar.

"It might have been."

She suddenly looked determined and readied herself to go in there.

"Open the door."

"Well, Bones is in there at the moment. He's trying to sedate him. He thought he was a danger to himself."

Jim was surprised and confused when Uhura let out a sharp bark of laughter.

"Doctor McCoy went in there. Alone. I think you'd better open the door quickly."

The fact that she was now laughing and the worry had seemed to have drained from her face, made Jim feel uneasy. Without really questioning it, he quickly tapped in the code a third time; his body was tense when the door opened.

They waited, to see if anyone emerged, and when they began to think no one would, McCoy appeared in the doorway. His hair looked windswept, and his shirt was ripped in several places. The terror that had been in his eyes, when he first appeared, was replaced by a steely defiance. His hands were empty of the hyposprays, but the back of one of them rubbed furiously at his mouth. He met Uhura's gaze, then Jim's, then looked ahead.

"I don't want anyone to ever mention this again."

He took off in the direction of the sickbay, not once looking back.

Jim poked his head through the door and spotted Spock out cold on the floor. Three empty hyposprays littered the floor around him.

**4.**

Jim was back and off the transporter pad so quickly that it was a danger he had moved before his legs had fully materialized. Spock followed at a more sedated walk, stepping off the pad but still following his captain.

"He's still down there. We have to go back."

His body twisted around, heading for the transporter pad again, but he turned away at the last second, instead choosing to pace uncertainly.

"I agree Captain, but I calculate the chance of a successful rescue increases exponentially if we wait until nightfall."

Spock's emotionless tone held it's usual logic, though Jim could tell that underneath the facade, there was also a hint of urgency to his words.

"We can't just sit around and do nothing."

"I don't plan on doing nothing Captain. In order to get the Doctor back safely, we need to plan a rescue."

Jim silenced. His mouth snapped shut with an audible click. The, no doubt, shouted retort died on his tongue, so instead his voice became quiet and calm.

"Okay then."

---

It had been three hours since he had been taken hostage, and McCoy was finding himself getting more and more annoyed as each hour passed. He knew that joining the landing party had been stupid, but he had felt that leaving the ship was the only solution as he was going stir crazy being stuck on the ship. It had actually required some convincing to let him beam down onto the planet; Jim was adamant about this being a potentially dangerous mission.

However, now, he completely regretted the decision. While doing a tedious job, appointed to him by Jim just to keep him out of the way, he had felt a heavy weight crash into the back of his head. He had simply been collecting samples of the planet to test – it wasn't really needed but it was something to do – when he was knocked unconscious and taken hostage.

McCoy wasn't even sure what happened to the rest of the landing party. For all he knew, they were also locked in similar ancient looking cells; but something told him he was the only one. At first, he had called out, hoping to hear a familiar voice answer but all it got him was a punch in the face from the guard watching him. After that he had remained quiet, besides the grumbles under his breath of course.

Soon the fourth hour passed and nothing changed. He was neither better off or worse off, though his mind was certainly starting to take its toll. The sitting around doing nothing, and waiting to be rescued, was really starting to get to him. The boredom had kicked in straight away; and boredom was what he had been trying to escape on the Enterprise. McCoy feared he was already half way to crazy, and waiting for Jim to come and collect him wouldn't help.

His mind was made up in an instant. He wouldn't sit and wait patiently, he was going to get himself out of this mess.

McCoy stood up in the cramped cell. The guard sat on a chair, staring off into nothing; he didn't seem to notice McCoy was moving.

"Hey, you! That's it, I've had enough of this. You're going to let me out now."

He grabbed the bars of the cells door as he spoke, rattling them for good measure. Though he had intended for it to look a bit more intimidating, it instead only seemed to prove how solid the door was. Nevertheless, the guard switched his attention to him, standing from his chair and approaching the cell.

"Oh I am, am I?"

The guard smiled humorlessly, stopping his footsteps when he stood firmly in front of McCoy, only the bars between their bodies separating them. "What makes you say that?"

McCoy smiled back, although his was filled with humor. Then, quicker than he would ever had given himself credit for, reached out and grabbed the collar of the man's shirt. He ripped his arm back, wincing slightly when his knuckles grazed the bars. The man's face collided with the metal and gave a sickening crack, which could only have been his nose breaking under the pressure.

The guard's eyes rolled back into his head. His head then lolled loosely and his feet gave way underneath him. Hopefully, the noise of the large body hitting the floor wouldn't carry down the corridor.

McCoy dropped to him knees and fished around on the floor for the keys the man had relinquished on the way to the ground. The old looking metal keys felt cool in his hand, and he quickly shoved them into the lock, twisted them and swung the door open. The keys clattered noisily when the door moved, but McCoy didn't care.

He stepped out of the cell and checked the guard over. Any sort of weapon would be good, but his search left him empty handed. So, he would have to break out using nothing but his fists. His communicator had been taken and it obviously wasn't down here, so he really was alone.

McCoy looked down the corridor, then moved down it. He'd better get started if he wanted to get out before Jim recklessly broke in to break him out.

---

"Captain, according to this, Doctor McCoy is on the move. He appears to be moving towards the beam down co-ordinates."

"What?"

Jim lent over the console, to confirm what the ensign had just told him. Then, sure enough, he saw the dot moving across the radar.

"Spock, come on. We're beaming down now."

---

By the time McCoy had fought his way out, the sun had set and it was dark. It made navigation difficult, but he was till able to return to the area he had beamed down to earlier.

Finally, he had a chance to rest. His heart was hammering in his chest, and it was forcing blood to seep out of the small cuts and grazes that dotted his body. None of them were serious. He was sure he would have a black eye later, and was only slightly certain that his nose was broken. The pain, although it was dull and throbbing, didn't make him feel guilty about the guard that was most likely coming to now, with a familiar feeling on his face. Though, other than that, his wounds were minor, only superficial.

He was just getting his breath back, when Jim and Spock materialized in front of his eyes.

Jim openly gaped when he saw the state he was in. Spock just simply raised an eyebrow. It was the most indication McCoy had gotten that something surprised him. A part of him was glad that it was him that got that reaction out of him.

"Well, what did you expect? I'm a doctor, not a damsel in distress."

**5.**

It was meant to be a routine mission. They'd be there and back again in a blink of an eye. No foreseeable complications. At least it should have been, had they ever got around to it. Instead, before they even made it to the meeting, everything went wrong.

Jim had limited the amount of bodies beaming down, hoping to lower the chance of a problem arising. That meant that only two ensigns were going to be joining Jim and McCoy as they beamed down to the planet's surface.

Up to that point, everything had been going smoothly. McCoy was grumbling about having to go with him, but was placated by Jim's reminder that with every instance of a peace treaty, there was usually a celebratory drink to consolidate the new bond. After that, the complaints had lessened and he stood next to Jim on the transporter pad keeping his words to himself.

Jim looked to the side, taking in his landing party. Both of the ensigns were bouncing on the balls of their feet; obviously excited to be leaving the ship for whatever reason. McCoy's face was completely stoical; he never had been a fan of the transporter pad. Jim kept his gaze on his CMO when he told Scotty to beam them down; a slight grimace replaced the expression but he still remained quiet.

However, when they materialized back again, Jim was met with a completely different expression. The face was the same, if not slightly off, but the expression was unusual. He had never seen McCoy looking quite so relaxed. The look gave off confidence and he looked so sure of himself.

It wasn't the only change that Jim noticed though. For a second, Jim thought the transporter had malfunctioned, maybe jumping them ahead in time, because McCoy had acquired a layer of stubble on his face that hadn't been there moments before. But he quickly negated that when he noticed his hair was in fact shorter. Not only shorter but less kept. It was a mess but short enough that, when it stood on its end in places, it didn't look odd just slightly styled.

Despite all this, it was still Bones that stood next to him. He may have undergone a bit of a makeover, but it was still his best friend. His change in appearance reminded Jim of when they had first met on the shuttle, he had had the scruffy thing going for him then as well.

It wasn't until he looked down that he realized something had gone terribly wrong. Not only had his physical appearance changed but his clothes had too. Instead of the starfleet regulation uniform, Bones' attire had taken on a darker, more somber tone. Everything he was now wearing was black. The many layers that made up his new uniform were a dark depressing black. The jacket; the vest; the trousers; the big clunky boots laced halfway up his shins; and the leather fingerless gloves, all black. To Jim, it looked like an old military type of uniform, though no one ever dressed like that anymore.

The main thing that tipped Jim off, that this might not be his McCoy, was the weapon in his hands. Being cradled in the not-McCoy's arms, as though it was a mother cradling her child, was the biggest gun Jim had ever seen.

He could admit that as a child he had been fascinated by the past; reveling in any vintage item he could get his hands on, but he had never seen anything quite like this before. A part of him hated how everything was made to look sleek and modern nowadays; a part of his missed the chunky, angular manufacture of items from the past. The gun had been made to cause destruction, and it showed.

It only took a matter of seconds for the not-McCoy to notice something was up. The gun was ready and in position, braced against his shoulder, before Jim had seen him move. Being at the receiving end of the gun was less fun than Jim had originally envisioned, and he hoped that the 'calm down' gesture he made with his hands would help.

"Who are you?"

The voice was the same, maybe a bit gruffer, if that was possible, and missing the southern drawl, but the same.

"I'm Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise, and I'm guessing you're not my chief medical officer, are you?"

The title of Captain seemed to put the man slightly at ease. The gun was still trained on him, but the man's eyes softened a bit.

"This isn't the UAC at Olduvai, is it?"

"No it's not. Who are you?"

Jim didn't have a clue what the man was talking about. He had never heard of a place called Olduvai; but something made him feel as though he needed to help him.

"I'm Sergent John Grimm of the special ops Rapid Response Tactical Squad."

Again, Jim had no knowledge of any special ops squad, but apparently the man was a Sergent; and that would always account for something. He took in the man's appearance again, frowning when he found nothing resembling the doctor, besides his face.

"So you really aren't Bones."

He spoke more to himself than to the man, but he was sure the man had heard anyway.

Slowly but surely, the gun lowered. The threat was obviously non-existent and the man felt it was safe enough to drop his guard.

Jim opened his mouth to say something, but before he could he remembered the ensigns that had beamed down with them. Maybe they had changed as well.

He spotted one on them standing a small distance behind the Bones look-a-like. Nothing seemed to have changed for him. On his face, there was a look of determination. It wasn't until he started moving, that Jim clicked on to what he was doing. He would have shouted an order to stand down had the Sergent not been faster.

As though he had some sort of sixth sense, the man could feel the body approaching him, without even looking. Though, judging by the slightly panicked look on the Captain's face, being directed over his shoulder, it wasn't difficult.

The hand clasping strongly onto his shoulder was no surprise. He reacted on instinct, grabbing the offender's wrist and twisting it sharply until he let go. The ensign yelped and already found himself on the losing side. He easily dropped onto his knees when the Bones-resembling-blur struck him in the back of the legs; his arm lifting painfully high in its position behind his back.

Jim stepped blindly forward, intending to stop the fight that was unraveling, but his mind was moving at a snail's pace trying to process the sight of Bones kicking ass.

The second ensign beat him to it again.

He obviously wasn't paying attention either though, because he tried creeping up on the Sergent from behind. He apparently hadn't just witnessed how that didn't work.

John Grimm saw the ensign this time. He shoved a heavy boot into the square of the first ensign's back, pushing him face first into the ground. He let go of his arm and instead grabbed the gun resting against his shoulder. As the second ensign got closer, he whirled around and slammed the heavy metal gun into his face. The ensign went sprawling onto the ground, without even doing any damage to the Sergent.

After the dust had settled again, John Grimm stood, surrounded by the unconscious bodies of the two ensigns, with the threatening gun aimed at Jim.

"You're definitely not Doctor McCoy."

---

Unsurprisingly, it took a lot convincing to let him beam them both up to his ship; but eventually the man relented, seeing no other option.

Jim contacted Scotty, telling him what had happened and to beam them all back, including the two, out cold, ensigns. Jim found himself keeping his eyes on the Sergent as he felt his body go weightless for a second.

When they appeared back on board the Enterprise, John Grimm was gone, and in his place was Doctor McCoy. He looked exactly as Jim remembered him, and he couldn't help but sign in relief.

Neither Scotty nor Bones seemed to notice his relief though, because their attention was drawn to the two bodies that lay on the transporter pads

Jim crossed the pads and walked towards McCoy, slinging an arm around his shoulders when he got there.

"Bones, you're back! You should have seen it, you were a bad ass."

McCoy answered him with an eyebrow raise and a surprised tone in his voice.

"Well, if it was anything like the men I just met, I can imagine."

---

**1 time he really, really wasn't.**

Aviophobia: Fear of flying. It is also sometimes referred to as aerophobia, aviatophobia or pteromechanophobia.

It was quite a common fear. It was understandable how you could be afraid of something you have no control over. If you could control it to change the outcome, then there would be no reason to be scared of it. Flying was scary. If the slightest thing went wrong, and that was possible considering all the things that are needed; all the gears and cogs that when jolted out of place could spell disaster. When you're sitting in this death trap, it is very easy to feel overwhelmed. If something did happen, then there is very little that you can actually do to improve your chances of survival. It's all out of your hands now; and if that's not enough to cause a little anxiety, I don't know what is.

Jim had known about Bones' fear since he first met him. He could still remember the moment clearly. He could vividly recall how his voice darkened at the words. Everyone else on the shuttle had been able to see the humor in the scene; chuckle slightly at the helpless aggravated man they didn't know, but Jim couldn't. He could see the genuine fear. Not that he could really relate. Flying didn't really bother him, as he was sure it didn't bother all the other people on the shuttle; but he could understand the reasons for it.

After that, it wasn't often that they were needed to travel in a shuttle, and if they did it was rare that they were both in them together. Bones still hated them with a passion, but Jim was never there to see his reaction. Only the aftermath and the complaints when they met up later. Though that was never the same as the fear in the moment.

A couple of years later and both Jim and Bones were on the Enterprise. Despite being up in space constantly, the fear seemed to lessen. Bones explained it was due to the fact that the Enterprise was a lot sturdier than the tin can shuttle they usually had to ride in. Though, Jim liked to think it was because of his captaincy. Maybe he felt a bit more in control knowing his best friend was in charge of his safety. When he voiced this to Bones, all he got in response was a skeptical eyebrow raise and a shake of a head.

Now they were in their third year of the five year mission. It had been many years since Jim had witnessed Bones become uncomfortable during a flight. And he had thought that it would be many more years before he would have to see it again. Turns out he had miscalculated. Forgot to carry the one somewhere, sometime, because the correct answer would have landed him on this exact date.

A virus had broken out on a nearby planet; they had just happened on their distress signal as they were passing. Apparently they were in desperate need of a doctor. Bones had been more than willing to help. He could survive a quick trip in the transporter room, if that's what it took to save lives.

However, just his luck, the transporter pads had been malfunctioning lately, though the word lately scaled it down a bit as it seemed there was always something wrong with them. Nevertheless, Scotty felt the need to step in and choose today to be the day it was too risky to use them; completely ignoring the days when he deemed it safe and ensigns came back with duplicated replicas. Bones didn't even want to remember the time he had been replaced by a near double, the only difference being, as Jim described it, their bad ass levels were way off each other.

This bad fortune meant that the only way for Bones to reach the planet would be through a shuttle journey. Jim was certain he had seen Bones' eye twitch when Scotty had described his option to him, but it had been a while since he had seen the reaction so he wasn't entirely sure.

An hour later, Jim, Bones, Spock and Sulu were in a shuttle on the way to the planet. Bones had dropped into a seat next to a window, and Jim settled into the seat next to him. It didn't take very long for the fear to return. Sulu's careless piloting wasn't helping either. It was as if the phobia had never left, Jim could remember every little movement Bones made and every reassurance he did to fool himself.

His eyes were staring out the window, not at anything in particular as there was nothing but space out there, but at something nonetheless. His left leg was bobbing up and down, his knee occasionally knocking against Jim's. The constant motion seemed to take his mind off it, and the contact with Jim helped put him at ease, as it was his way of saying he was still here.

Every rumble or jolt, Bones' hands clenched and unclenched on the armrest; his body shifted and fidgeted, unable to just simply sit still. The scowl never left his face.

Another lurch and Bones' hand scrambled for the armrest. His eyes closed momentarily, and when they opened again, he looked angry; most likely directed at Sulu's piloting abilities, and probably party due to the embarrassment of feeling so affected.

Jim watched him during the short trip. Bones either didn't notice as he was too preoccupied, or he simply didn't care enough to comment. It wasn't as though Jim liked to watch Bones suffer, it was just that it was a rare sight. Bones wasn't a preteen girl, as he quite regularly pointed out, and he could look after himself, but it was times like these that just made Jim want to look after him.

The hand on the armrest was tapping an unrecognizable beat and an unsteady rhythm. Jim reached out his own hand to cover it, stopping the noise instantly. The sudden touch surprised Bones, who turned from the window with a question forming by only his eyebrow. Jim shrugged in answer, but left his hand where it was. The scowl came back and Bones returned to gazing out the window, though he also left his hand where it was, underneath Jim's. Jim smiled at the back of Bones' head. At least it was a start.


End file.
